


goodnight, moon

by soupmetaphors



Category: Kill Bill (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cherik - Freeform, Gen, Kill Bill AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12024363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupmetaphors/pseuds/soupmetaphors
Summary: "When fortune smiles on something as violent and ugly as revenge, it seems proof like no other, that not only does God exist, you're doing His will."A bloody rampage told in two volumes.





	1. Chapter 1

El Paso, Texas: A little white church in the middle of little white nowhere, and Erik in his stupid little white tuxedo.

Except the floors and walls are now painted red. Except Erik can feel his suit stick to him, hands slippery with blood. Except his ears are ringing with the _rat-tat-tat!_ of machinegun fire long finished, and his teeth feel like they have no place in his mouth.

“Do you find me sadistic?”

It’s a struggle to see who is talking, through the pain, through one eye already swelled shut. But Erik knows that voice anywhere.

“You know, I bet I could fry an egg on your head right now.” A pause, a contemplation. “If I wanted to.”

_How did you know?_

It’s a stupid question. Charles always knows. It’s almost like magic, pulling Erik’s thoughts out of his ears one by one. Pulling his lies away.

“You know, kiddo,” Charles says, and Erik can see other figures standing around him. He doesn’t need to see their faces to pinpoint who is who. “I'd like to believe you're aware enough, even now, to know that there is nothing sadistic in my actions.”

Charles pulls something from Erik’s own breast pocket: A white handkerchief, the edges only finely speckled with blood. He wipes Erik’s face with it, with such gentleness it makes Erik want to spit.

“Maybe towards those other jokers. But not you.” The handkerchief is folded neatly. Charles tucks it into Erik’s pocket. “No, kiddo-“

“This is me at my most masochistic.”

“Charles.” The name claws its way out of Erik’s throat. He can see the glint of something metal in Charles’ hand, catching on the sunlight from outside. “It’s Ni-“

The _bang!_ is loud, echoes in the silence of the room. The sentiment, never completed, hangs in the air.

Hangs and keeps hanging.


	2. Chapter 2

** VOLUME ONE **

It’s snowing outside, when Erik exits the restaurant. The faux garden they’ve set up is pretty impressive: Cherry blossom trees, a little river with a bamboo bridge, a Shinto shrine off to the side.

His feet leave red tracks in the snow as he listens closely, waiting, muscles tense, sword held so tight in his grip it turns his knuckles bone white.

“Silly little boy likes to play with Shaw swords.”

Moira’s voice, before Moira herself comes into view. She’s standing on the bamboo bridge, her own Shaw sword in her relaxed grip.

She’s grown older, Erik notes. The lines around her eyes are more pronounced- The fruits of her own criminal empire starting to bear down on her. It gives him more than a little satisfaction.

“For ridiculing you earlier,” he says, conversationally. “I apologize.”

“Accepted.”

“Ready?” he asks.

She nods. “Come on.”

It’s like a dance: The swords are singing in the nighttime, the whine of steel and their own controlled breathing the only sounds audible in the garden.

_Block,_ Erik thinks. _Block, dodge, parry, lunge-_

Old training gently filtering back to him, instincts already eased into familiar territory before he himself is consciously aware of it.

They go across the bamboo bridge, wooden planks creaking ominously under their weight and the force of their battle.

Erik ducks, brings his sword behind Moira, up, straight, the sound of metal against flesh loud in his ears-

There’s a soft _whump,_ blood arcing through the air.

Moira is standing upright, sans her scalp, which is lying a few feet away in the red, wet snow. There’s a look of disbelief on her face, as if she can’t wrap the fact around her head that _Erik,_ of all people, has done her in.

“That really is a Shaw sword,” she breathes.

Erik wipes his sword on his shirt as Moira falls first to her knees, then sideways into the snow. He doesn’t realize how heavily he’s breathing until he lowers his sword, wipes the sweat off his brow.

_Silly rabbit_. How does that go again? _Tricks are for kids._


	3. Chapter 3

“Hank, Hank,” Charles says. “My Hank. I’m so sorry.”

“Please.” Hank’s voice doesn’t rise above a whisper. “Please forgive my betrayal.”

“No more of that.”

“But still-“

Charles tuts, disapprovingly. “But still nothing- except my breaking heart, over what he’s done to my beautiful and brilliant Hank.”

_“How did you find me?” Erik smiles at him, soft disbelief touching those beautiful eyes, before looking out towards the desert._

_“I’m the man.”_

_They stand like that for a few moments, side by side, outside the chapel in El Paso. The wind blows softly, a precursor of the things to come._

The memory fades as Charles runs his hand through Hank’s hair. The man is seated on a wheelchair, an IV stand next to him. One of his arms is missing, and Charles doesn’t need to face him to see the look at utter _despair_ on Hank’s face.

“One more thing, Hank,” Charles says, gently. He thinks their little session has been going on for long enough.

“Is he aware his daughter is still alive?”

 


	4. Chapter 4

** VOLUME TWO **

_“What’re you doing here?” Erik asks, and Charles raises an eyebrow._

_“What am I doing? Well, moment ago I was enjoying the scenery. At this moment-“Charles turns to him. “-I’m looking at the most handsome groom these eyes have ever seen.”_

_Erik takes a tentative step towards Charles. And then another. “Why are you here?”_

_Charles is walking towards him, too. Their shoes make the wooden boards creak. “Last look.”_

_They stop inches apart, right in front of the chapel’s open doors. Erik puts on a tiny smile. “Are you going to play nice?”_

_“I’ve never been nice my whole life.”_

_Erik opens his mouth to say something, but Charles reaches up to touch his face. “_ But _I’ll do my best to be sweet.”_

_“I always told you your sweet side is your best side.” Catches Charles’ fingers as the other man traces the line of his jaw. He squeezes, releases a moment later._

_Charles hand falls to his side. “I guess that’s why you’re the only one who’s ever seen it.”_

_At first, Erik thinks he might be relaxing. He’s done so much to pry himself out of the Massachusetts Trade and Negotiations Triad (MuTaNT)-- And here comes Charles, on the day of his fucking wedding, no less._

_Inside, he hears the tinkle of the wedding organ, hears Magda talking excitedly to her friends. Tomorrow, he’ll be free of it forever. For real, this time, now that Charles knows about it. No more running, no more constantly looking over his shoulder._

Goodbye, Magneto, _Erik thinks, distantly._ And hello Max Gurzsky.

_“So,” Charles says, and Erik’s attention snaps back to him. “You put a bun in the little lady’s oven?”_

_“Not exactly, but-“_

_“Jeez, Louise. That girl of yours sure doesn’t believe in wasting time, does she?”_

_Erik wants to take Charles’ hands and say,_ listen. Look at me. Listen. _He wants to tell Charles’ what’s been dogging him all these years away from the Triad._

_Instead, he shakes his head. “She believes efficiency is the key.”_

_“Well,” Charles says, and Erik almost misses the slight_ slip _of his voice: Joviality suddenly giving way to a hard, dangerous tone for only a second. “She isn’t wrong to think so.”_

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Do you know why I help you?”

Erik’s hand is becoming comfortably numb, wrapped around the ice-cold whiskey. “No.”

Cassandra’s smile is nasty. “Because he would want me to.”

It’s so easy to see Charles in her face, that Erik grips the glass even tighter. “Now, that I don’t believe.”

“Ahh,” Cassandra wags a finger at Erik, her tone both patronizing and wistful all at once. “How else is he ever going to see you again?”


	6. Chapter 6

He leaves Cassandra, after she gives him Charles’ address: A villa three hours away, at the very fringe of the jungle. Erik drives as fast as he can go, the Shaw sword carefully buckled up in the passenger seat.

Soon, he can finally look that son of a bitch in the eye.

Soon, he can pay Charles back for Magda, for their friends. And, most of all, for Nina.

( _Nina, with Charles’ eyes. Nina, her little fingers wrapped around Erik’s thumb. Nina, not at the chapel in El Paso, but at the record shop he and Magda worked at, under a friend’s care-_

_Gone, when Erik woke up. Four years later, vanished without a trace, record shop razed to the ground by-_

_By who else?_ )

It seems like an eternity to reach Charles’ house.

And when he arrives at his destination, Erik exerts all his self-control to calmly retrieve the sword. To calmly, quietly, walk through the front door, through the living room, towards the door that led out back. He can hear talking, Charles’ laughter filling the air at intervals, a sound so familiar it makes his chest hurt with rage and nostalgia.

His hand slides towards the gun on his hip, pulls it out, right before he stops dead in the doorway.

“Freeze, Papa!”

Erik goes so stiff, he thinks he might’ve already died. He looks at Nina, pointing her little green pistol at him.

Next to her, Charles sits on the steps, with his own pistol- Red, with a hollow _click!_ each time he pulls the trigger.

“Bang, bang!” Charles says, before throwing his arms out, as if Erik has _really_ pulled the trigger. His hands clutch at his chest. “He got us, Nina.”

Erik’s hands are trembling so hard it’s a miracle he hasn’t _actually_ shot Charles.

Nina clutches her own chest, and the two exaggerate their deaths, moaning and calling out that they’re dying. Eventually, they’re both lying prone on the steps, and Erik can’t stop shaking.

He thinks he’s dreaming.

He thinks he’s in hell.

He thinks he’s in heaven, and maybe it’s all three at once, maybe he’s still in a coma, maybe-

“But,” Charles narrates, his eyes closed. “Little did Magneto know, that little Nina was only playing possum, due to the fact she’s impervious to bullets.”

Erik’s face crumples. Tears sting his eyes.

Nina sits up. “I am pervious to bullets, Papa.”

Charles opens his eyes. “Hey, get back down there. You’re playing possum.”

Nina obeys, and Erik watches Charles turn his head so he has Erik in his line of sight. “So, as the smirking killer advanced on what he thought was a bullet-ridden corpse-“

“-that’s when Nina fired!”

Nina scrambles up, grabs her plastic pistol. “Bang, bang!”

_If I don’t sit down, I’m going to fucking collapse._

“You’re dead, Papa,” Nina declares. “So die.”

It takes him a moment to process her request, to understand his part in this little pantomime the three of them have got going here.

Erik staggers back against the doorway. “Oh! Nina! Oh, Nina…”

Grunts as he falls to the ground, like a marionette with its strings cut. Nina hops down the steps as he draws out his ‘dying words’. “I should’ve known: You _are_ the best.”

His eyes close, just as Nina draws upon him. “Oh, Papa, don’t die! I was just playing.”

When he opens them, she’s kneeling beside him. Her eyes are alight with innocent mischief. He can’t take it any longer: Sitting up, he pulls Nina into a hug, arms trembling, cheek resting against her soft, brown hair.

“I know,” Erik chokes on the words. “I know.”


	7. Chapter 7

_“You know, sweetie, Papa’s kind of mad at Daddy.”_

_Nina’s eyes grow round. “Why, Daddy? Were you being a bad daddy?”_

_Charles shakes his head. His gaze meets Erik’s over Nina’s head. “I’m afraid I was. I was a real bad daddy.”_

He’s put Nina to bed, hardly ever believing for a second that is whole situation is nothing but the real deal. But it is. _It is_ , ever goddamn second of it.

( _A killer made from killers, Erik had thought, after Charles had regaled him with Nina’s unsanctioned_ murder _of her goldfish._

 _But how_ could _she be? Those brown eyes- Charles eyes- held all the innocence in the world. And all the potential the killer in Erik could see, clear as day._ )

The next few moments seem so surreal: Charles and him, talking about crossing Shaw swords, talking about Nina, and the beach behind the hacienda.

But then Charles has a syringe in his hand. And Erik’s too caught up in this strange fantasy that he can’t react fast enough before it’s sticking out of his thigh.

 _Christ_ , Erik thinks, and he’s faintly aware he’s screaming.

“Now-“ Charles turns away from Erik, towards the indoor bar. He’s pouring them both a drink: Erik can see two glasses, see the amber liquid Charles is pouring out for them. “-If you don’t settle down, I’m going to have to put one in your kneecap.”

 _Xavier, you bastard._ Gritting his teeth, Erik inhales, sharply, clamping the screams shut in his mouth. “That’s a painful place to get shot in.”

Charles laughs. “I’m just fucking with you.”

There’s a spiel about truth, about the bloody dilemma they’re in, which they both know can only end when one is dead. There are words, beautiful and dangerous in Charles mouth, poison in the air.

Erik can only half-hear him: Whatever the fuck was in the syringe is making him feel light-headed, tongue loosened until it’s practically flapping out of his mouth.

And now Charles is going on about superheroes. He’s going on about how Erik Lehnsherr wears the costume of Max Gurzsky, but will always _be_ Erik Lehnsherr.

“Are you calling me a superhero?” The words are slurred, slightly. Charles called it a truth serum of some kind- All cards are on the table. At least, Erik’s are.

Charles hands him the other glass, finally. “I’m calling you a killer: A natural born killer.”

The whiskey burns going down Erik’s throat. His hands are shaking. At this rate, he’ll lose both his nerves and sanity before the night is over.

“You’re not a worker bee, Erik. You’re a renegade killer bee.”

( _Working at the record store, going to the movies with Magda, rocking Nina to sleep in his arms-_ )

“First question!” Charles points at Erik with his free hand. “Did you really think your life in El Paso was going to work?”

“No!” _Not in a million fucking years._ “But I would’ve had Nina!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I think you would have been a wonderful father-“

( _Driving Nina home from the hospital, trying to frantically calm her down, her wails doing a number on Erik’s nerves_ -)

“But you are a killer. Want to know why?”

“Yes!” Despite himself, the answer slips from his lips.

“Because all those people you killed to get to me,” Charles says, slowly. “Felt damn good, didn’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Every single one of them?”

“Yes.”

“That was the warmup round. Now here comes the money question.”

Erik downs the rest of his drink, nails tapping against the glass. He knows what’s next. He knows, he knows, and it feels like Charles has shot him, all over again.

“Why did you run away from me with my baby?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the longest chapter yet. enjoy!

They’re sitting at the table outside, under the stars. Their swords are resting against their respective chairs. Erik can’t remember the last time he’s breathed this crisp, cool air without being choked on the stench of blood.

“Do you remember the last assignment you sent me on?”

“Of course.”

“Alexander Summers.”

_The morning Erik leaves, Nina Xavier had been the furthest thing on his mind._

_On the plane, however, he starts thinking. About Nina. About the surrogate nursing her in the hospital, who would never know this little girl._

_Maybe, just maybe, Charles having a child in his grasp isn’t such a good idea._

“What I didn’t know was that somewhere on my journey, I had been spotted.” He’s looking at his hands, his gaze no longer focused on Charles. “With me in L.A., it didn’t take Alexander Summers to send an assassin of his own.”

 _He’s in a hotel room, downtown L.A, fresh out of the bathroom. He’s texted the surrogate mother to check on Nina-_ Charles is busy _, he reasons, with the woman._ I just want to check in. _He stares at the screen of his phone, waiting for a reply._

_The doorbell rings._

_Erik goes to the door, free hand going to the pistol holstered by his hip. “Hello, can I help you?”_

_It’s a man’s voice. Erik peers out the peephole to see him standing in the corridor, hands behind his back. “Hello, I’m Warren Worthington.  I’m the hospitality manager of the hotel.”_

_Erik says nothing, and the man carries on. “I have a welcome gift from the management.”_

_“That’s, uh, nice,” Erik manages. His hand is still around the pistol. “Can you just leave it by the door?”_

Ding! _The alert gives Erik a start, phone slipping from his grasp. He bends down to pick it up, and-_

Bang! _A load of buckshot punches a hole through the door, right where he was standing a moment ago._

_Scrambles back into the bathroom, closing the door before Warren kicks the door in. The pistol is in his hand, and Erik waits until he gauges Warren’s distance from the bathroom door before ramming the door with his shoulder._

_With a deafening_ crack! _the door flies off its hinges, slamming into Warren, throwing the other assassin back._

_Erik dives under the bed before Warren can regain his feet. Waits with bated breathing. He can see Warren stagger upright, grabbing the wall to steady himself-_

_Erik pops up, still on the floor, but his pistol is trained on Warren, the other half of his body still hidden from view. “You pretty good with that shotgun?”_

_The barrel of said shotgun is pointed at his face. Warren’s expression is impassive. “Not that I have to be at this range, but I’m a fucking surgeon with this shotgun.”_

_“Well, guess what, asshole?” Erik gives him a sickly grin. “I’m better than Doc Holliday.”_

_“And I got you right in my sight. I could blow your fucking head off.”_

_“Not before I put one right between your eyes, so let’s talk.”_

_Silence settles between two of them: Like a pair of tigers, tussling over the same gazelle. Erik dares not bring his gaze away from Warren._

_“Warren,” he starts, quietly. “I just figured out, right now, not a moment before you blew a hole through that door-“_

_“- that this life isn’t for a kid.”_

_Confusion flits across Warren’s face, marred with anger. “What is this?”_

_“On the floor by the door is my phone. And there’s a picture of my daughter on it. My newborn daughter.”_

(Technically a lie. It’s Charles’ daughter. _Their_ daughter, since Erik’s name is also on that adoption form. But not biologically, at least.)

_“Bullshit,” Warren snaps._

_Erik’s breathing is slow. “Any other time, you’d be a hundred percent right. This time, you’re a hundred percent wrong.” He swallows, thickly. “I’m the deadliest man in the world. But right now, I’m just scared shitless for my baby.”_

_“Please. Just look at the phone. Please.”_

_There’s something in Warren that seems to give in. He glares at Erik. “Stay where you are and don’t move.”_

_Erik watches Warren move towards the phone, backwards, the aim of that shotgun never once wavering from his face. Warren picks up the phone, scrolls through Erik’s messages._

_“Say I were to believe that this isn’t just some random fucking baby. That this isn’t a set-up.” Warren looks up from the phone. “What then?”_

_A feeling akin to relief rushes through Erik’s entire body. “Just go home. I’ll do the same.”_

_Warren puts the phone on the table off the to side. He backs up until he finds the door, opening it. Before the other assassin leaves, he gives Erik a tense smile. “Congratulations.”_

_The door clicks shut, and Erik lets himself drop down on the floor. He knows what he has to do. He knows how quickly he needs to get back there, to take Nina, and run, run,_ run!

“Before Nina,” Erik says. “I was a man, _your_ man. I was a killer who killed for you.”

“Before Nina, I would’ve jumped a motorcycle onto a speeding train. For _you_. But once Nina was born, once I saw her for myself, I could no longer do any of those things.  Not anymore.”

“Because I was a father now. Can you understand that?”

Charles’ gaze has gone soft. “Yes. But why didn’t you tell me then, instead of now?”

“You were going to claim her, Charles. And I didn’t want that.”

“Not your decision to make.”

Erik frowns. “Yes. But both our names are on those papers.  And I made that decision for my daughter.”

It’s hard to explain, but he tries, he tries so hard to make Charles see. “She deserved to be born with a clean slate. But with you, she would’ve been born into a world she shouldn’t have. I had to choose.”

“And I chose her.”

Charles hasn’t touched his drink. The ice has melted, diluting it. Erik knows he won’t drink it now. “When you never came back, I naturally assumed Alexander Summers, or somebody else, had killed you.”

“Oh! And the for the record-“ _Now_ Charles’ gaze hardens again, mouth a thin line. “-Letting somebody think somebody they love is dead when they’re not is quite cruel. I mourned you for three months.”

“And in the third month of mourning you, I tracked you down. Well, I wasn’t trying to track _you_ down. I was trying to track down the fucking assholes I thought killed you.”

Erik wants to take the glass out of Charles’ hand and drink the whiskey so badly. He wants to run to Nina’s bedroom, bundle her up, and leave. He can’t. This finale, this sum of his whole, bloody rampage is here, tonight.

Neither of them will walk out of here together.

“And what do I find?” Charles smiles, humor never touching his eyes. “Not only are you not dead, you’re getting married to some fucking bitch. And you’ve got Nina. I overreacted.”

Erik bangs the table with his fist. “ _You overreacted?_ Is _that_ your explanation?”

Charles raises his hands. “I didn’t say I was going to explain myself.  I said I was going to tell you the truth.”

“But if that’s too cryptic, let’s get literal: I’m a killer. I’m a murdering bastard. You know that. And there are consequences-“

Erik growls, softly, under his breath, but Charles is pretending not to hear.

“-to breaking the heart of a murdering bastard. You experienced some of them. Was my reaction really that surprising?”

“Yes,” Erik snaps. “Yes, it was. Could you do what you did? Of course you could. But I never thought you would, or could, to _me_.”

“I’m really sorry, kiddo.” Funny, how despite being the older one, it’s Charles who calls him like he’s still a child, still that young man plucked from the streets. “But you thought wrong.”

“You and I have unfinished business.”

“Baby, you aren’t kidding.”

It’s Erik who lunges across the table, first, knocking Charles to the ground. They tussle on the grass for a bit before Erik manages to grab Charles’ Shaw sword, still by his chair.

Charles slams his head against Erik’s, and stars burst from behind his vision. His grip on the sword loosens, and Charles grabs the sharp end of the blood.

Shaw swords are crafted from the finest steel in the world: Blood immediately flows, dripping onto both of them. Erik’s straddling Charles, sword angled directly to his heart. The only force keeping him from pushing the blade in his Charles strength, bloodied hands around bloodied steel.

Erik pulls the blade back. Charles yells, the blade slicing his palms as it’s freed from his grip. Stumbles up, and back, back, further onto the grass. He watches Charles stagger up, blood dripping from his mangled hands, hair a mess.

Tenses as the other man walks back to the table, grabs Erik’s Shaw sword. “I never liked fighting with weapons that aren’t my own. Want to swap, kiddo?”

“No. It suits you.”

“Alright. Your loss then.”

Charles walks back onto the grass. Erik takes a deep breath.

And then he’s running towards Charles, and Charles towards him, and they meet in the middle with steel and blood. The _clang!_ of steel is deafening, and Erik thinks he hears Charles _laugh_ at one point.

But the laughter dissipates too quickly, as Erik changes his fighting style-  No longer passive, but aggressive, pressing ever onwards, looking for a chink in Charles’ maneuver.

It happens almost too quickly.

Charles stabs at Erik, but Erik moves slightly to the left, steel merely grazing his shoulder. It’s all the opportunity he needs.

Throwing his arm around Charles, he pulls the other man to press against him, while the other arm raises the Shaw sword behind him, sinking it through Charles back, up through his chest, narrowly missing his heart.

The sword Charles is holding clatters onto the grass. The edge of the sword Erik is holding rest gently on Erik’s shoulder.

“Dark Phoenix taught you how to do that?”

“’Course she did.” Erik watches a dribble of blood run down Charles mouth, onto his clothes. Their faces are only inches apart.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m a bad person.”

“No.” The side of Charles’ mouth quirks upwards, a half-smile enough to break Erik’s heart here and now. “You’re not a bad person. You’re a terrific person. You’re my favorite person.”

 _Don’t,_ Erik thinks. _Don’t, Xavier, please-_

“But every once in a while, you can be a real asshole.” Charles laughs, and then coughs. Something wet splatters Erik’s face, warm and red. “How do I look?”

Erik pulls back slightly, careful not to move the sword. Appraises Charles for a moment, before smiling back, bitterly. “You look ready.”

“Give me kiss before I go, will you, kiddo?”

 _It’s not fair._ Erik leans in, and gently presses his lips against Charles’, careful not to gut himself on the sword. _It’s not fucking fair._

But he knows it is. He knows, _has_ known, ever since waking up from that coma.

He breaks the kiss, the same time he draws the blade back into Charles’ body. Angles again, pushes- This time the steel breaks through from the exact positon of Charles heart.

Charles shudders, a low hiss escaping his mouth. He clutches Erik’s shoulders, and for a moment, their gazes meet.

And then Erik pulls out the sword, letting it fall onto the grass. Blood starts to spread from this new wound, the entirety of Charles’ suit turning dark red. His head lolls, weight no longer held up, and Erik sinks to his knees, still holding Charles in that awful, final hug.

He stays like that for a long time, in the dark, surrounded by the chirping of crickets, holding Charles until his arms go numb.


	9. Chapter 9

They’re staying at a little roadside motel about six hours from the hacienda. Nina’s sitting on the bed, watching old cartoons- He can hear the high-pitched nuances of the characters even while he’s lying on the bathroom floor, sobbing.

The tiles are cold against his cheek, his voice echoing off the walls of the bathroom. He’s glad Nina can’t hear him- Or that maybe she can, but isn’t making a fuss out of it.

( _He carries her out of her room, out of the house, Charles’ blood just cleaned from his face and hands. The urge to set the entire house on fire comes, and goes- But Erik knows he’ll be back to do it, as soon as he gets Nina somewhere relatively_ safe _-_ )

“Thank you.”

The words drag itself from the depths of Erik’s throat, tearing through his sobs. His shoulders are shaking so hard he can feel them thudding repeatedly against the floor.

( _“I want a child, Erik.” Charles, polishing his sword under the midday sun. “I’ve already found a surrogate mother, but I want to extend this offer to you.”_

_Erik blinks. “What?”_

_“When the papers come in, for her official parents, I want your name to be there with mine.”_ )

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” A laugh so sudden it surprises Erik, to hear it coming from his own mouth. But there he is, crying and laughing all at once.

( _Before they go out to the garden, Charles stops Erik in the doorway._

_“You are my greatest love, you know.” His fingers brush Erik’s arm, a gesture both familiar and alien given the circumstances. “And my greatest regret.”_

_And for a moment- for this brief space of time- Erik almost reaches out and puts his arms around Charles. Just to hold him again, one more time. One_ last _time._

 _Of course, he gets his wish, later. But under a very different situation._ )

“Oh, thank you.”

And then the sobs eat up the rest of the words, and Erik can only curl up, and let the grief pull him under.


	10. Chapter 10

“ _There’s a nail in the door, and glass on the lawn-_ “

The radio is playing as he helps Nina into the passenger seat, shutting the door after she buckles up. In the backseat, both Charles’ and his own Shaw sword, gleaming in the weak sunlight.

“ _-Tacks on the floor, and the TV is on-_ “

Erik gets into the driver’s seat, and Nina taps his shoulder. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Found these in the glovebox.” She’s holding up plastic shades, a cheeky smile on her face. “Put them on, Papa!”

“ _-And I always sleep with your guns when you’re gone-_ “

Taking them from her, he slips them on, delighted at hearing Nina’s laugh. “Are you ready?”

She grins. “Ready!”

Erik throws the car into gear, and then they’re moving, away from the motel, away from the hacienda, the life Erik tried to keep her out of. They’re moving further and further, and he doesn’t look back.

He won’t look back.

“- _No, it wouldn’t be too soon ‘til I say goodnight moon._ ”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually written for my friend's birthday, several months back. i've just decided to put it up here. i'm not part of the X-men fandom, so excuse the mistakes as i took most of the information from the wiki, and mashed it with the movies. i hope you enjoy it.


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